The Writhing of Its Victims
by Fire Tears
Summary: The needs of the world negate the hero's right to bleed. [slight AU, VR slash]
1. Chapter 000: Exordium

Wow, LOTS of scary things in that summary. I'm surprised you even clicked on this at all. Well, you did, so onto the premise:

**JUST SO YOU KNOW:** This is an AU of an AU, of sorts. Basically, this story involves the Justice Lords from _A Better World_, assuming they'd never opened the dimensional portal to the Justice League's universe. Don't worry, it centres around Virgil and Richie. I think we all know that if the Lords hadn't been stopped, they would have just gotten worse and worse in their domination of the world's affairs.

Apparently, you don't have to have seen the _A Better World_ two-parter in order to understand what's going on. More stuff will be explained later, so not to worry if there's anything you don't get; just think of it as a complete AU if you haven't seen _A Better World_.

**ONE MORE WARNING:** I update VERY VERY VERY SLOWLY. I'm very sorry, and I'll do my best to update quickly, but... yeah. So if you read a bit of this and think you might like it enough to really want an update, maybe come back and read the rest, like, two weeks later.

The responses on the(underscore)gas(underscore)station at LiveJournal were so very positive that, obviously, I decided that post this on after all, with a small tweak. So, enjoy.

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**The Writhing of Its Victims**  
_The needs of the world negate the hero's right to bleed._  
Alternate Universe, Justice League Crossover, Work In Progress, Virgil x Richie slash

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**Chapter 000: Exordium**  
_"Power takes as ingratitude the writhing of its victims." – Rabindranath Tagore_

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Richie doesn't know how much longer Virgil can hold up under the pressure. Since 'surrendering' himself to the Justice Lords, Static has become something of a sidekick to them; the little man they send to all the unimportant, tiny problems; peaceful protests, repeated jaywalking, that kind of thing. Small price to pay, Static claims, for the Lords not shoving him into a cryogen cell with the other Bang Babies until the late Gear's cure-for-the-cure can be... well... cured.

Richie knows that's a lie. And it's not just Virgil's lie, either; it's _their_ lie. Their price.

But when Virgil slips into his apartment and rests his head on Richie's shoulder and just _breathes_, Richie feels like Virgil is the only one _paying_ the price. Because Dakota hates him. Because the world hates him.

Because he hates himself.

Static Shock. The traitor of Dakota, the heartless backstabber. The so-called hero who overlooked his partner's "accidental" death and joined the Lords without a second thought, with a _smile_ for the controlled news, despite the _world_ knowing the Lords were responsible for Gear's demise.

No one but Virgil knows that Richie is still alive and living under the name Rick O'Brian, who is supposedly twenty-two. No one _can_ know, not even Robert and Sharon Hawkins, because it would put them in danger; jail is for the _little_ crimes, like attempted murder of another normal human being. People who threaten the Lords and their power just... disappear. So the Hawkins can't know. Robert can never know why his son betrayed the memory of the person he supposedly loved more than his own life. Sharon can never know why her brother turned his back on everything he ever claimed was right.

Virgil, out of necessity to retain the image of an uncaring metahuman in love with his own power, and to keep his family and Richie safe, doesn't talk to them anymore. And it's killing him, more than the world's hatred ever could. How many times has Richie forcibly wrestled the phone away from Virgil? How many times has Static perched silently on his once-home's roof, just listening to the sounds of his family?

How many times has Richie sat on the couch with Virgil, arms wrapped around him as his best friend cries into his shoulder?

"Just a little longer, V," Richie always says, and the weight of Virgil's trust in him grows more and more unbearable with each passing day that Richie fails. But Virgil never mentions that. He never asks _how_ much longer. He never points out that Richie has been saying 'just a little longer' for far too long.

And today, he has to say it at least once more.

"Just a little longer, V." He sits down beside Virgil on the couch of his apartment, handing him a cup of coffee. He's sound-proofed these walls. Virgil flicks the setting on his holowatch — Richie's invention, of course — and the image of a non-descript white man in his early fifties (good ol' Rick's father, to the neighbours) flickers into a sombre black teen with dredlocks. Virgil accepts the cup quietly, taking a small sip. "You'll make it. I know you will."

"Stop saying that," Virgil says, setting his mug down on the coffee table. He draws his legs up onto the couch, cross-legged and leaning back against the armrest, facing Richie. He shakes his head slightly, frowning. "Stop saying that."

Richie flinches. "Virg, I'm so sorry. I'm working as hard as I can, but the Box's capacity for shuffling near-complete reality is completely insufficient; I'm going to have to first attempt to shift at least one remote parallel dimension completely out of sync if I want the—"

"I don't know what the hell you're saying, Rich, much less the process to do it, but that isn't what I meant anyway. And did I mention that you have absolutely _no_ imagination? I mean, the Box. You can poke holes in reality but you can't come up with a better name than the Box? You couldn't even use a more interesting synonym? ...Is there another word for synonym?"

"No. Virgil—"

"No as in, you couldn't find a better synonym, or no as in, there's no other word for synonym?" Virgil is grinning at him, fully aware that he's being annoying, and Richie just can't help but grin back. Good moods are so rare these days, he can't help but go along, if only for a moment.

"Jesus, _fine_. The _Cube_, then. And no as in, there's no other word for synonym. I would punch you, but that involves actually getting up." He sighs suddenly, touching two fingers to his temple as if to ward off a headache. "But what did you mean, 'stop saying that'?"

Virgil's good mood is abruptly gone as well, utter seriousness on his features. "Saying 'you'. Like 'You'll make it, Virgil'. 'You'll beat them, Virgil.' 'You'll win this, Virgil.' Like... like you think you won't be there to see it."

Richie stares at his hands. They've been dancing around this issue for months now. "One of us is gonna die before this is over, V. I can't... The probability of both of us surviving such a huge double-cross against the most powerful group of people in this universe is—"

"Shut up, Richie." So very, very calm.

Richie snarls. "—is about 7.86 percent, Virgil!"

"I _said_ shut up!" Virgil snarls back; the lamp closest to him flickers in and out of life. Repressed anger pours out of him, as if he's been holding it back for awhile. "I don't give a fuck about your calculations! This is _life_, Richie, this isn't a math equation, or Backpack, or... or the fucking Cube! You can't make life into a goddamn probability count and expect it to be even _close_ to accurate! You could get hit by a _bus_ tomorrow! Did _that_ probability enter into your calculations?"

"Yes," Richie says simply, and Virgil glares at him so viciously that he has to turn away. But then Virgil just slumps.

"God, Rich, I'm sorry." Virgil leans against the couch tiredly, closing his eyes. "I just... I don't want to hear the odds." He laughs a little, opening his eyes and forcing a small smile. "Besides, I'll probably be the one who gets his ass kicked, right?" he says jokingly, but Richie says nothing.

Virgil's eyes narrow.

"What aren't you telling me, Richie?"

Richie takes a deep, shaking breath and clasps his hands together to keep them from trembling. He doesn't miss Virgil's slight flinch, and that bothers him, because he's not afraid of Static and his power, and he's probably the only person who could face down the rage of Static without flinching. But Virgil thinks he's afraid. And he is, just not of Static's rage. He's afraid of _Virgil's_ rage.

"Rich..." and suddenly the gentleness vanishes as it hits Virgil that it would take one _hell_ of fucked-up situation to make Richie fearful of his reaction.

"Remember Alan Gilmour?"

"'Course," Virgil answers, and he's one of the few people who know about Richie's true mental capabilities and _still_ give him the 'what, are you retarded?' look. "He was the crazy guy with the gun who clipped my skull with a _bullet_, Richie. Trust me, I remember."

"What happened to him?"

"Richie, this has nothing to do with—"

"What_ happened to him_, Virgil?" Richie demands, his hands clenching around handfuls of couch cushion material.

"He..." Virgil squirms slightly, obviously uncomfortable. "He... The Lords... took care of him," he finishes lamely.

"They killed him, Virgil."

"I... I know."

"Like they 'killed' me, Virgil."

"_No_," Virgil hisses, glaring at his best friend. "Richie, goddamnit— _what did you do_? Don't twist things. Don't change the subject. Just tell me what you've done, man. Please." Virgil's pleading with him now, and Richie is shocked to see that his hands are trembling slightly.

"V... V, there's hardware in your _brain_. My hardware."

Virgil jerks, and narrows his eyes. "They know that, Richie. The chip you apparently put in before your 'accident' to keep J'onn from reading my mind." Richie's brain immediately runs through the attributes of the chip: resistant to electrical charges, impossible to hack or change, irremovable because Virgil die if they tried... "They know that. _I_ know that. It was a risk, but we took it, and we lucked out."

Richie knows Virgil isn't stupid. He has to know what Richie's getting at.

"There's another chip." He lets that sink in for a moment, watching Virgil's face carefully, then continues, "It's built with all the fundamental schematics of—well, it _theoretically_ works on the principle of the power of suggestion. It's inserted behind the original chip and invisible to scanners. It doesn't _actually_ work, and it couldn't; too many components are off or just not there at all, but unless it's physically taken apart it'll be impossible to tell that it _doesn't_ work. In any case, the only programming in it has been devised to... well, liquefy—harmlessly—as soon as my heart stops."

"A mind-control device," Virgil says flatly. "Traceable to you. That will self-destruct the second you die."

"A _fake_ mind-control device," Richie corrects, trying to ignore the way his hair is standing on end, and the way his skin is tingling almost _painfully_. Virgil flexes his hands, clenching and unclenching his fingers. There's no visible electrical charge around him, but for a second, every light in Richie's apartment flickers on at twice their usual brightness, and the bulb of the lamp nearest Virgil actually explodes.

"W_hy_?" Virgil finally grits out, bringing himself under control with obvious effort. Richie rubs his arms reflexively, relieved that Virgil isn't freaking out half as much as Richie had been prepared for. Frankly, Richie had been worried he'd have to leave the room or risk his blood boiling.

"Because one of us has to keep living, V," Richie says quietly. He can feel himself slipping into Gear's cold, purely factual view of things and he's grateful for it. "If they find out that I'm still alive, how long will it take them to figure _you_ out? One word from me, and that chip will send out a faint signal that the Lords' computers will pick up. They'll find the second chip. Their diagnostics will tell them what it's supposed to do. They'll keep me alive long enough for me to tell them everything — or at least, everything according to me. They'll believe that I've been controlling you. That I told you I'd survived, but refused to join the Lords, and you wouldn't leave them. And I... I couldn't bear to let you go. When I die, that chip will liquefy. No way for them to tell that it wasn't real. No real reason for them to doubt my story. No reason for them to kill you, too."

"You think... you think they'll _believe_ that?" Virgil chokes out; Richie notes that he appears to be reeling.

"Not really. But it's better than us just saying 'Yes, we've been screwing you over and trying our damndest to take you all down. What's it to you?' But if you play the part, Virgil, if you go along with it... then you'll have a _chance_. _We'll_ have a chance, even if I'll be dead. Besides, the story I've got planned to tell them is a lot more complex than the version I just told you. It's not like I'm just going to wing it, Virgil. I've figured out all the details, all the possible loopholes, all the different voice tones and inflections I'll need to employ, all the..." He stops. "Everything. I've figured out everything."

"Rich—"

"I'm right. You know I'm right. Besides"—Richie manages to quirk a faint smile—"I died once before, remember? It's not so bad."

Virgil just... _looks _at him, and it's worse than any glare. Richie presses his palms against his eyes, sighing.

"You're supposed to be pissed off because I put a fucking _mind-control­ device _in your head without telling you, not because you think I'll die. You're supposed to want to kill me _yourself _for doing that."

"What, did you calculate the probability of all kinds of shit occurring and figure out that that was what would most likely happen?" Virgil snaps bitterly.

"You're also supposed to stop trusting me," Richie says lamely, trying very hard to keep looking Virgil in the eye instead of staring at the couch cushions again.

"You put a mind-control device that doesn't work in my brain without telling me, much less asking my consent, and then you told me about it when you expected me to, like, zap you and not trust you anymore and hate you. Because you don't want me to die."

Richie is watching the ceiling light out of the corner of his eye, ready to cover his face with his arms, because that looks like it might explode, too.

"I can get over the mind-control thing. I can get over the part where you thought I'd zap you, even though I _want _to zap you for thinking that I would have zapped you."

"Uh." Totally a super-genius.

"But the part I'm having trouble with, the part I'm having a _really_ hard time with, is the whole 'my best friend is essentially suicidal' thing!"

"What would _you_ do, V?" Richie snaps out, suddenly angry. "Would you just sit back and let _me_ die when you knew there was a way you could possibly prevent it?"

"No! But there's no way for me to keep you safe if you practically dance in front of the Lords with a _target_ painted on you!_ Why do you think I'm so fucking mad at you!_" Virgil yells, and Richie jerks back as if slapped. They stare at each other for long moments, Virgil practically breathing _fire_, and then... Richie cracks up. He can't help it. Hysterical laughter bubbles up, and he just can't stop it, nearly doubling over on the couch. Virgil manages a weak laugh, not really amused, but all the lights dim and he rubs Richie's back soothingly, slowly bringing him back to normality.

"You're so stupid. I don't care what your IQ is, you're an idiot." Virgil's voice is equal parts affection and concern. Richie has no response for that, so he lets Virgil take his face in his hands.

"I can't lose you, Richie," Virgil whispers, his thumbs gently digging into Richie's face for a brief instant, as though Virgil's in pain. He is. "Not now, not ever."

Richie closes his eyes. "Virg—"

"I need you, man. I can't do this without you. I can't win without you. I can't... fuck, bro." Virgil lets out a short laugh, and Richie is glad he can't see Virgil's expression. He doesn't want to know what he's done to the person he loves more than anything in this twisted world. "I can't survive without you. I won't. I'll break, I'll give in, I'll _lose_. I need you. At the risk of sounding like some kind of bad thriller movie, the _world_ needs you, 'cause I sure as hell can't do this on my own. Even if I had your brain."

Richie lets silence reign for a little while. After a minute or so, Virgil lets go of his face and Richie rocks back, opening his eyes to stare at the couch cushions.

"So," Virgil says finally, and Richie forces himself to meet the last true superhero's gaze. "What are our chances _without_ the bus?"

Richie laughs helplessly, because if he doesn't he thinks he might cry. He knows the answer to every goddamn decimal point, but he pushes it out of his head with no small effort and reaches for Virgil with both hands, and Virgil gathers him up in something that's not a hug so much as a mutual grip on their _sanity_.

"I love you." They've never kissed, never fucked, never done anything that would possibly add more complication to the mess that they're in. Whatever they _want_ can wait — must wait — until they've done what they _need_.

"Me too, man." Virgil's whisper is harsh and raw in his ear. "Love you too." But this, this little exchange of honesty, isn't complicated. Love you, love you too, and it gives them a little more strength. Just enough more to _want_ to wake up in the morning and keep breathing, as opposed to needing to.

Richie thinks about the Box... the Cube. About what it will do, and what could happen if he fails. About what will happen if he never tries at all. There is so much freedom hanging in the balance; he holds it in his hands every time he picks up the Cube to work on it.

When he holds the Cube... he holds another _future_ in his hands.

Virgil's grip tightens around him, drawing him as close as he can possibly get.

"I've gotta go."

"I know."

"Remember to eat. And sleep."

"I know."

Virgil lets him go, sliding off the couch and leaving Richie cold. "I wish... I wish you hadn't told me."

"I know."

"But I'm glad you did."

"I kno— that doesn't make any sense."

Virgil's grin is only half-forced.

"I know."

He twists the holowatch again, and to anyone watching, Rick O'Brian's balding father has just left the residence. Thankfully, no one is. Richie knows that Virgil will stash the device somewhere a good distance from here before heading back to the Watchtower. It would _not _do for one of the Lords to notice it.

Richie checks the time, then flicks on his own holowatch, and the image of a young man with red-touched brown hair flickers into existence, because even in the midst of all this chaos, insanity, danger, terror, and secrecy...

A man still has to work for a living.


	2. Chapter 001: The Wolf Who Cries

Much thanks to all the wonderful people who reviewed the prologue to this fic; I appreciate your comments more than you know. Yes, that was a prologue, don't look at me like that.

Aaaanyway. Yes, I realize that **this chapter is in past tense and the prologue was in present tense**. All the chapters after this one will be in past tense as well. There was a _reason_ for the prologue being in present tense, trust me, and it'll be obvious later. I'm not going to randomly switch tenses on you poor readers, I promise.

As always, comments and constructive criticism are more than welcome.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own Static Shock, I don't own Justice League, and I don't own Star Wars. You can't even get my soul if you sue me; I sold it years ago in exchange for a box of Misty Mints.

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**Chapter 001: The Wolf Who Cries**  
_"Which is worse? The wolf who cries before eating the lamb or the wolf who does not?" — Leo Tolstoy_

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————_ONE YEAR EARLIER_————

Even for Dakota, this was weird.

"Gear, man, please tell me that you too are seeing a bad AT-ST rip-off."

"I'm seeing it, bro. Except it's a bit smaller, and chickenwalkers don't have hands."

"That's why I said a _bad_ rip-off." Indeed, there was what looked a _lot_ like a chickenwalker with hands trundling down Locke Street, merrily crushing parked cars beneath its feet as it went.

Well. Not _that_ much smaller than a chickenwalker. Gear and Static both dropped into a dive, intending to stop the robot before it hurt actual people instead of just insurance rates.

Both Shock Boxes crackled, and Batman's voice emanated from them.

"Gear."

Shocked enough that he stopped in mid-air, Gear narrowly avoided getting KO'd by the robot's sudden swipe. "Here." Ever since Gear and Static had both politely declined the offer to ally themselves with the Justice Lords, relations between Dakota's duo and the Lords had been rather cool.

Actually, Richie had declined for both of them. Virgil had just about killed him later, when he found out, but Richie had just shaken his head and said "Trust me, V," and he'd been firm, but somehow almost pleading, so what else could Virgil do?

Of course, Virgil had still refused to talk to him for a few days, but they'd gotten over it, as with everything else. But now Batman was calling – had actually used their frequency – and was asking for Gear only, it seemed. Why?

"Good. Gear, I need you to get down to the following co-ordinates"—Batman rattled them off, and Richie input them into Backpack, the machine beeping once—"and go inside the warehouse there. There isn't enough time for one of the Justice Lords to get down there, but we've located a bomb in one of the crates. You'll be able to get there in enough time to dismantle it, or at the very least, warn the people in there—there are four Bang Babies in the warehouse."

"Hey, Gear is _not_ going into a building with a bomb!" Virgil protested immediately, dodging back from the robot and keeping himself too high for it to reach. "Can't you just send them a telegram or something?"

"The more time you waste arguing, the less time Gear has to dismantle it."

"Gear's not going!" Virgil snapped, shocked by his own tone, but what the _hell_ was wrong with Batman, wanting to send his partner into such a dangerous situation? "Besides, we're a little bit busy right now."

"I think this is Gear's decision, not yours." Batman's own tone was sharp and cold.

"Gear—" Virgil began immediately, looking at his partner, but to his horror, Gear shook his head, a strange expression on his face.

"It's fine, Static. There are four lives at stake, and we're heroes, right?" He gestured to the robot. "You can handle that thing. Just zap it a few times and join me once you're done."

Virgil floated right up to his partner, making sure neither of their Shock Boxes were outputting, then softly pleaded, "Richie, don't do this."

"You would," Richie said simply, and he didn't argue any further because he knew he'd won.

"Yeah, but—" Virgil sighed, raking a hand through his hair, and wincing as another car was stomped. "I'll be right on your tail, man, as fast as I can. I promise. Call me when you get there."

"'Course." They knocked their fists together, like always, and Richie drifted away a bit so that when he jetted, Static wouldn't get a face full of rocket boot.

"Warehouses. Shit always happens in warehouses," Gear grumbled, but somehow it seemed forced, and Virgil had noticed that Richie had been swearing more lately, something he usually only did when extremely stressed. Virgil wanted to press him on it, but Gear had already started to leave, and time was of the essence.

"Good luck, Static."

"You too, man." Virgil saluted him, and Richie returned it, then jetted away. Virgil watched until his partner was barely a speck in the sky, then turned back to the robot, both hands glowing and crackling.

"Okay, Mr. Copyright Infringement, let's see if you're built as tough as the real thing."

Powering up a rather large blast, though it was nowhere near nova-proportions, Virgil hurled it at the robot dead-on, and it nailed the thing perfectly.

Unfortunately, the robot seemed to have been built with Static in mind.

The robot absorbed it, and one of its hands snapped up with abnormal speed, its arm extending and snatching Virgil with fingers big enough to curl around his chest all the way down to his feet. Although Virgil had been able to keep his arms free, they were of little use as the robot drew him close and slowly began to drain his electricity.

Well, this was going to be a bit of a problem.

———

Finding the building was not a problem, and neither was entering it. It was your typical dilapidated warehouse, and Gear had just enough time to wonder why people just randomly abandoned these things before a sonic screech hit him and he slammed head-over-heels into the ground.

Ow.

He also barely had time to stand up before Backpack, in one of the few times it took its own initiative, fired up his jet skates and sent him flying straight up and out of the way of Kangorr's ground-shaking stomps. Backpack beeped at him again, and he narrowly escaped being turned into barbecue by Hotstreak.

"Hey, time out!" he yelled desperately, holding up his hands in the universal 'Peace!' gesture. "Time ou—" Shuriken whipped past his head from behind and exploded upon impact with the wall. "HEY! TIME OUT!" He threw a zap trap in Shiv's general direction, then zigzagged in mid-air to avoid one of Talon's dive attacks.

"There is a _bomb_ in here, and I need to find it and shut it down!" He dodged to the side, but one of Kangorr's boots clipped him on the arm, sending him into a sharp spiral.

Well, this was going to be a bit of a problem.

———

There was a 'Push to Deactivate' button. Virgil could not believe it. The freaking robot actually had a big red button, right in the centre of its 'face' labelled 'Push to Deactivate', and when it had drawn him close it had actually put him almost within reach of the stupid thing. Virgil seriously doubted that the button would do anything useful (and might, in fact, do something decidedly mean to him if he _did_ push it) but hey, it was either that or let the thing drain him of all his electricity, which wouldn't actually kill him, and then crush him or something, which probably would.

Virgil growled in frustration, stretching desperately for the button. His fingers trembled violently as his strength was sapped, and he knew he didn't have much longer until he was as weak as a kitten. Jesus, that button was only there to be a cruel joke, he was sure of it. It was probably going to shoot spikes at him or something and he was going to be impaled through the skull and leave a horrible corpse behind, which was _so_ not fair because it wasn't too often that good-looking guys like him came along, and _why couldn't he reach the freaking button_—

Out of nowhere, something small and round and white flew past and smashed into the button with considerable force. To Virgil's eternal surprise, the machine immediately powered down, and the awful draining of Static's electricity ceased, although Virgil was still quite firmly in its grip. It took about a minute of wriggling and quiet cursing for him to squirm free. As it was, he nearly fell the ten feet to the ground, calling his disc to him at the last second; it took a lot more effort than usual to do so.

Looking around for the thing that had saved him, it came as something of a shock to find a regular, everyday baseball sitting innocently beneath the hulking robot. Virgil picked it up, then turned, and it came as even more of a surprise to see a girl with short red hair and a baseball mitt staring at him, half-excited and half-nervous. He floated her way, hopping to the ground a few feet in front of her. Well, Gear hadn't called to say he'd gotten to the building yet...

"Hell of a throw," he said, impressed, and tossed the ball back to her. She grinned widely as she caught it, her face slightly flushed.

"Thanks. I've been playing baseball since... forever, pretty much."

"Yeah... Um, you know, I'm real grateful and all, but you really shouldn't have—" he paused as she gave him a Look that reminded him fiercely of his sister. "Uh. You know. Try to keep away from giant robots and all that."

"Will do, hero." She looked about his age. He was just about to offer her a ride home or back to her baseball diamond or wherever when Gear's voice suddenly crackled over the Shock Box, angry and nervous.

_"For god's sake, **I don't have time for this**! What part of 'bomb in the building' aren't you idiots understanding?"_

Virgil barely had time to toss off at least another thank you before he was forcing his disc to rocket back into the sky, and the hell with his current weakness.

His partner was in danger.

———

Gear's calm was rapidly eroding. He'd spent the last two minutes dodging fireballs, stompings, lots of sharp glowing exploding things, talons, and sonic screeches, and quite frankly he was getting a bit pissed off.

He also needed some serious back-up. Pressing the button on the Shock Box and hoping Static had his receivers on 'high', he yelled,

"For god's sake, _I don't have time for this_! What part of 'bomb in the building' aren't you idiots understanding?"

Talon, the only vaguely intelligent one of the bunch in Richie's opinion, hesitated. "Yo, Hotstreak!" she called down, just as the man let off another gout of flames in Richie's general direction. "Cool it!"

To Richie's surprise and gratification, Hotstreak appeared to be willing to listen to her, and backed off—at least temporarily. Kangorr and Shiv were less inclined to do so, but they weren't big problems. And they had crappy aim.

Hotstreak hadn't shut down his flames, though. "Ten seconds, poindexter."

_All in favour of coming up with a new insult, say 'aye',_ Richie thought wryly. What he said was, "There is a bomb in this building capable of reducing everyone in here—except maybe Hotstreak—to bones and ashes. I know where it is and I know how to shut it down, so if you just let me _at_ the damned thing, I don't give a shit _what_ you do after that." His voice had risen to a frustrated shout on the last bit, and in his head a clock was ticking. How long did he have?

Hotstreak stared at him for a second, considering, then glanced at Talon. Without looking, he sent a scorching wave of flame in Kangorr and Shiv's direction, forcing them to back off.

"_Thank_ you," Richie muttered sarcastically, landing warily beside one of the larger crates. The unique signal Batman had described was coming from here. He sensed Talon and Hotstreak just behind him, but didn't bother turning, instead pulling out what looked like a teacher's laser pointer and proceeding to slice the top off of the crate.

"Okay, that thing is cool," he heard Hotstreak concede behind him, sounding amused for once. Of course – he had no fear of explosions. Richie would have loved to inform him that the shockwave might cause him some pain, but now was not the best time to incite the pyromaniac's temper.

Inside the crate, sure enough, a bomb was ticking away. A very large bomb.

Richie sucked in a breath, then sliced off one side of the crate and plopped himself down in front of it, noting immediately that it wasn't just your run-of-the-mill dynamite-and-a-timer bomb. This was _sophisticated_; it had a freaking keypad, and Richie _hated_ smart villains. This would require hacking.

And judging by the timer, another thing it would require was more time that he had.

"Get out of here," he said shortly, not bothering to look behind him at the four other Bang Babies. He wasn't even sure if Kangorr and Shiv could hear him; they were loitering around the other end of the warehouse, glaring but apparently not willing to challenge Hotstreak and Talon.

The timer ticked on, mocking him. Three minutes.

Richie's fingers flew feverishly over the keypad, and Backpack detached itself from him, jacking itself into the computer and sending data streams to Gear's helmet. "If this blows, we all blow. Leave. _Now_."

Hotstreak snorted. "I think I'll hang around to watch the light show, thanks. Talon can leave."

Talon, for her part, hesitated. "You gotta leave too, y'know." Richie was surprised to realize that she was talking to him.

"Too powerful. Could kill bystanders." Proper grammar and complete sentences were not the highest thing on his priority list at the moment. Whoever programmed this thing was _good_, and that pissed him off and terrified him at the same time, because while the program wasn't near enough to keep Gear out for long... it might just be enough to keep him out long _enough_.

Talon flapped into the air, her decision obvious. "See ya, Hotstreak." With a slight wave, she left through a broken window just as a green sphere enveloped the warehouse. Talon whirled just outside the green, startled but free. Clearly realizing who had created the shield, she flew out of the area faster than she'd ever flown before, but wisely stayed low to keep out of sight.

"What the fuck, mon!" came Kangorr's startled yell. Gear ignored him, his level of panic increasing as the program refused to give. He felt like screaming in frustration as the timer continued to count down. He had a minute and twelve seconds.

"Goddamn Lord," Hotstreak snarled behind him; the level of hatred in the pyrokinetic's voice was unexpected. "They turnin' on their own now? Thought they were all about having fucking _faith_ in each other."

_"Gear?"_

Static's voice was frantic over the Shock Box, but Richie didn't have time to answer it. No time, no time, good Jesus thirty seconds and _still no closer_—!

_"Gear, man, answer me!"_

Backpack used one of its 'feet' to press the side of the Shock Box, and Richie promptly yelled, "Shut up a minute!"

Twenty...

_Wait. Wait. Is that...?_

Fifteen...

He had it, he _had_ to have it, he was _so close_—

Ten...

Come on, come on... YES! Richie pumped a triumphant fist in the air as the timer flashed repeatedly on seven. Lucky number seven. Richie stood; the bomb was the Lords' responsibility now, and he just wanted to get out of this building.

He raised the Shock Box to his mouth, laughing a little in relief. "Bomb successfully dismantled, Static."

_"Never doubted you for a second, bro. Now get the hell out of there."_

Richie frowned. Virgil had sounded... antsy. He was about to ask why when he realized that the green shield was not being dropped.

"Something's not right," he said quietly, almost to himself, but Hotstreak tensed behind him. Richie turned to look at him, and he saw that although Hotstreak was glaring at him, it didn't feel like it was actually Gear whom Hotstreak was pissed off at.

Suddenly, things were starting to fall into place in the worst possible way.

"Backpack," he said, and his mouth was utterly dry, "scan for _anything_ out of the ordinary. Anything."

Backpack made a whirring noise, and then a beeping noise, and then a truly terrifying panicky beeping noise that sounded the same as the first one to anyone but Richie.

"Oh, _shit_."

———

Virgil reached the building at almost the same time as Green Lantern. For some reason, the Lord gave him a double-take, but he recovered quickly. Lantern gave him a quick wave, explaining, "I finished my mission earlier than expected. I figured the best thing to do was get down here to help."

Virgil nodded, then tensed up as green light spilled from Lantern's ring, enveloping the building in a pale green dome.

Unaware how that was possibly going to help but willing to trust his hero, Virgil raised the Shock Box to his mouth, intending to ask for a status report from his partner. He knew that Richie and the other four had come to a truce, but not much more.

"Gear?" Virgil believed waiting five seconds for an answer to be adequate time, considering his best friend was currently trapped in a bomb-rigged building.

Five seconds passed with no answer, so he tried again.

"Gear, man, answer me!"

This time, the answer was immediate, panicky, and more than a little bit nerve-wracking: _"Shut up a minute!"_

_Okay,_ Virgil told himself frantically. It wasn't as though he could pierce Green Lantern's shield in his condition anyway. _He's okay. He's snapped at me like that before when I've interrupted one of his non-fatal experiments. He's fine. No panicking._

_Why the hell did Lantern close them in?_

As if in response to his thoughts, the shield glowed brighter and seemed to thicken.

"What are you doing?" Virgil asked hesitantly. He crouched on the disc and curled his fingers around the edges, his eyes flicking to Green Lantern for the barest moment before returning to the green dome that enclosed the building.

"Containing the explosion," Green Lantern said calmly, glancing at Virgil to gauge his reaction. "Just in case."

"If you can contain the explosion," Virgil said slowly, ignoring the insane _ohmygodohmygodohmygodrichieno_ his brain was doing, "then why did you let Gear go in to try and dismantle it?"

"Gear will be fine, Static. Besides, we can't just let the four other Bang Babies in there die." The way Green Lantern said it, the implication was that he was concerned for the safety of the other kids, but Virgil's skin crawled. Something was very wrong, he could feel it. He itched to rush down there and burst in, rip Gear out of the building, and the hell with Green Lantern's shields and the other Bang Babies.

Just then, his Shock Box crackled.

_"Bomb successfully dismantled, Static."_ Gear's voice was full of the cheer that only supreme relief could bring, as well as tiredness from so much tension. Virgil couldn't help the grin that spread across his face at the sound of his partner's voice, although something still felt... off. He immediately lifted the Shock Box to his mouth to respond.

"Never doubted you for a second, bro. Now get the hell out of there." Somehow, a faint note of urgency had entered his voice near the end. He lowered the Shock Box, turning to Green Lantern.

"You heard Gear; bomb's gone. You can lower the shield now."

Green Lantern didn't move, and neither did the shield. Virgil stared at him for a moment, confused and anxious.

"Come on, man. You don't want the other Bang Babies in there to turn on Gear, do you?"

"Of course not." The shield flickered for a moment, but quickly solidified again. "Just give me a moment."

Virgil frowned. "You've never needed 'a moment' before."

Gear's voice suddenly exploded from the Shock Box, scared and terse.

_"Static, get the hell away from here!"_

Green Lantern jerked in surprise. Virgil ignored him, terror for his partner's safety spiking through him. His disc dipped, shooting toward the shield almost on instinct, not bothering to worry about how he was possibly going to get through it in his current state of weakness. Maybe Green Lantern would have had 'a moment' by then.

"What—"

_"Can Lantern hear me?"_

"No. What the hell—"

_"Don't trust the Justice Lords!"_ Gear's voice was an angry snarl that nearly smothered the fear still underlining his tone. _"Don't trust them. Just run! And... and it's not your fault; never your fault."_

"Gear—!"

_"Bye, bro."_ Terrifyingly soft and gentle, almost apologetic, then...

The warehouse exploded. Virgil thought he might have screamed, but he couldn't be sure, because his entire body just seized up. If Green Lantern hadn't caught him and his disc in another green sphere, he would have gone tumbling from the sky, his charge and his focus long since vanished.

Suddenly, he was on his feet again, pounding his fists against translucent curves that wouldn't give, not even when he threw charge after charge at them, emotions overriding weakness. Green Lantern caught up with him, his face betraying nothing.

"Let me _out_!"

"Static, I realize you're in shock—"

"That's what _everyone_ says when someone dies!" Virgil screamed at him, his hands crackling and glowing, slamming again and again into the green. "Don't _say_ that!"

"Static!" The bubble encasing him was shaken, and Virgil tripped, landing on his rump and trembling hard. "Static," Green Lantern continued calmly, "there's nothing you can do." The dome containing the collapsing, smouldering building shimmered and vanished, bright green retreating into the ring.

So fast. Like he could have done it anytime.

_"Don't trust the Justice Lords! Just run!"_

"You knew," Virgil said softly, glaring up at his one-time hero through the translucent green. "You knew. That's why you didn't drop the—you **let him die**!"

"You're in _shock_, Static," Green Lantern repeated, but there was something cold and dark in his voice: a deadly warning. "You need to calm down. I know what it's like to lose a best friend, believe me. But this isn't the time to fall apart."

_"Just run!"_

_Oh, god, Richie..._

"Sorry," Virgil whispered, bowing his head so that Green Lantern wouldn't see the hatred in his eyes. He grabbed the hatred, twisted it around him like a shield so he wouldn't have to feel the pain. "I just... sorry." He couldn't fight back, not while he had so little of his charge, not while Green Lantern already had him in his grip.

Green Lantern's face softened unexpectedly. "I'm sorry too, Static. If there had been _any_ other option, any other way, I would have taken it. But there was no way I could save him."

The sincerity in his voice was sickening, because Virgil knew he really was sorry. Sorry that Richie had been too smart, too damn smart for them to handle. Too much of a threat, and too good to join them, that they'd had no choice. They'd had to take him down before he took _them_ down.

_And you knew it. You fucking knew it, Richie._

Through it all, through all the agony and hatred and crushing sorrow, he suddenly felt fiercely proud as realization hit him: they'd had to kill Richie because they were afraid of him; afraid of what he could do. The whole damn former League had been scared of his boy.

And he'd be damned if he wasn't going to honour Richie's legacy.

"J'onn can help you through this, Static. I'll take you to the Watchtower."

"No," Virgil said immediately, and despite his resolve, his voice still shook. "I just... I want to go home." He didn't want to get within a thousand miles of J'onn if he could help it; he was one of the Lords, and a telepath. Bad combination when one was percolating vengeful thoughts. And even if he hadn't been... Virgil still wanted to go home. Home to his father, to his sister, to the picture of his mother.

She'd take good care of Richie for him, he knew it.

_Mom..._

He clenched his teeth together, balling his hands into fists. Crying through his mask would be extremely uncomfortable, but he just... he couldn't...

A part of the building crumpled inward, and so did something inside him. It just seemed to hit him, suddenly, and he yanked the mask off his face and threw it to the... floor... beside him. He didn't care anymore.

"Richie." The name slipped out of him like a plea and he squeezed his eyes shut. _They were so fucking scared of you, bro. The Lords were scared of_ you_. All the power in the world, but they knew you could take them down._

A faint sob escaped him, a few tears slipping free, but he clenched every muscle in his body and swore to himself that he wouldn't really cry until he got home. Until he could scream and rage and swear revenge out loud, because if he started crying now, he wouldn't be able to stop. He wouldn't be able to _not_ attack Green Lantern, and he knew himself well enough to know he wouldn't win.

_You'd want me to be smart, bro... _You_ were the smart one._ Even back before the Bang, no matter how school-smart Virgil was, Richie had been the common sense. The logic. _But I can play it smart, too. Not as smart as you, not even close, but I can play it smart enough, for you. I'm gonna need your help, Rich. You and mom now. I need you both._

_It hurts. God, it hurts so much._

———_  
_

_If there's another fucking bomb, why the **fuck** wouldn't they tell the poindexter?_

Hotstreak only had one answer for that, and it came from a hard-learned lesson: you have no friends, and the only person you can trust is yourself.

The Lords had planned this to take down Gear. But why? Pathetic little nerd-boy with bad catch-phrases, hanging in Static's shadow, only good for getting kidnapped or distracting Static's enemies long enough for the _real_ deal to zap 'em. Why the hell hadn't they tried to take down Static instead?

Gear had dismantled one of the most sophisticated bombs Hotstreak had ever seen in under three minutes. He built all kinds of crazy shit that managed to subdue the power of _fire_. Damn poindexter _was_ smart. Useless, yeah, but smart.

Smart enough to scare the Lords? No-fucking-way, Hotstreak wasn't going to believe that. But smart enough to free Maria, and the rest of the Bang Babies?

Hotstreak was willing to take that chance.

He tackled Gear to the floor, slamming the kid down on his back, sending his radio-thing flying and managing to cover most of his body with Hotstreak's much larger bulk. Gear screamed when they hit the floor—_fucking wimp_—and the warehouse exploded around them, just as forcefully as Gear had predicted.

The roar of flames and a shockwave slammed into them, and while Hotstreak could do little about the 'wave and the debris that was sure to fall, he _could_ keep the heat at bay.

Within seconds, it was over. Hotstreak immediately rolled off of the geek, not wanting to touch him any longer than necessary. There was no sign of Shiv or Kangorr; not that Hotstreak gave two shits about them. The building groaned ominously, and all Hotstreak wanted was to get the hell out of here now that the Lord's shield was gone.

Gear made an interesting whimpering noise, and Hotstreak was just about to snap at him when it dawned on him that the whimper was more pained than anything else, and the kid's gloved hands were clenched into fists.

"You wanna live, you'd better get the hell up before this thing falls on you. I ain't waiting."

The machine spider-thing suddenly moved, crawling toward Gear. It was stained more or less completely black from the flames and slightly warped in some areas, but frankly, Hotstreak was shocked to see that it was still operational.

Gear, clearly with incredible effort, rolled himself onto his side with a short, sharp exclamation of pain and then forced himself into a sitting position. It was then that Hotstreak saw what had caused the scream, and then the whimpers: Gear had landed on some twisted, sharp metal that was on the floor, and then, with Hotstreak's weight and momentum adding to the force of his fall, had been dragged over it.

_Whoops,_ Hotstreak thought sarcastically, ignoring the faint twinge of guilt. That was a _nasty_ wound, from mid-back to tailbone, and it looked like it was bleeding pretty badly. Not deep, though. Just ripped off a lot of skin.

Suddenly Gear let out a string of expletives that left Hotstreak impressed in spite of himself, and then the nerd near-snarled and lurched to his feet, off-balance and stumbling, but standing. Hotstreak grabbed his arm, then shoved his shoulder toward the back of the warehouse to get him moving.

"Why?" Gear ground out. He was limping, favouring his right side; Hotstreak was very glad that he hadn't been the one to hit the metal. That creepy robot thing trailed Gear like a faithful dog.

"'Cause the fucking Lords are just a really tough gang, and gangs don't go to near this much trouble to take out someone they ain't scared of or can't cause no harm," Hotstreak snapped. "I hate you, okay? I do. But for some reason, a wimp like you is a problem to them, and I hate them more'n I hate you. I'm not a good person, but I'm better than they are, and they ain't finding out that you're not charcoal from me." Gear opened his mouth, and Hotstreak stuck his finger in the kid's face. "Don't even fucking _try_ to thank me, 'cause I didn't do it for you. Don't fucking let them catch you, and if you tell _anyone_ that I saved your scrawny, wimpy little poindexter ass, I will _toast_ you. Got it?"

"Can you utter one sentence that doesn't have the word 'fuck' in it?"

Hotstreak smirked; they understood each other, at least. Gear glanced out the doorway; with no one in sight, he went outside. Hotstreak followed.

"Now get the fucking fuck out of here, you fucking wimp, 'cause I'm fucking going to stay to fucking fight."

"O-fucking-kay, you lunatic." A part of the building crumpled inward, but it was the side opposite them. The robot's legs stretched, crawling up Gear's front instead of his back. It was slightly creepy, as if the robot could actually tell Gear was injured and was smart enough to not cause him any more pain.

The geek limped away, staying as far out of the light as possible, and Hotstreak turned his gaze to the sky; there was the Lord, but not looking their way. Hotstreak was jolted to see Static in the bubble. The Lord had caught him?

Nah. Most likely Static had collapsed from the shock or something stupid like that, 'cause he wasn't fighting back.

"Hey, asshole!" Gear called suddenly. Hotstreak turned to look at him. "Thanks!"

Hotstreak flipped him off, and Gear vanished into the shadows with almost as much skill as Ebon.

The pyrokinetic, on the other hand, took to the sky. He knew he couldn't win, but he wouldn't be able to run much longer, either.

They took Maria. The least he could do was give at least one fucking Lord a farewell scorching before they froze him like Maria, or took him down for good.

———

It didn't take Lantern but a minute to defeat Hotstreak. A quick shot with a tranquilizer dart, and then a casual toss of one of Batman's capsules at Hotstreak, the small tube exploding and encasing the Bang Baby in a complete coating of ice nearly a foot thick. He'd set the Bang Baby on the ground and called Wonder Woman to come pick him up, explaining quietly that Static needed his attention at the moment, as the young superhero hadn't even seemed to notice his arch-rival's attack _or_ defeat.

Green Lantern felt a bit ill. What he'd done had been necessary, but that didn't change the fact that it was an awful thing – killing a sixteen-year-old kid; right in front of said kid's best friend, no less.

_Static wasn't supposed to be here,_ he thought wryly, as if that excused anything. The robot, built by Batman from the mostly finished model of one of Luthor's older machines, should have drained Static into unconsciousness, then simply powered down. The button had been a precaution; it wouldn't have worked at all before Static's energy level dropped below a certain point. No harm would have come to him, either way.

None of the Lords were stupid. They'd known that Gear had declined the offer of alliances without Static's consent or knowledge – and via J'onn, they knew that Gear was extremely wary of them, and didn't trust them to so much as _breathe_ without an ulterior motive. J'onn hadn't probed any further than surface emotions; those were clear enough without adding distinctive thoughts to the mix.

Not to mention that the Bang cure released over the city of Dakota was mysteriously having no effect... simply dissipating into the air as though something was destroying it while it was airborne. Without a cure to stop them, the Bang Babies were causing problems for Dakota, per usual – but now were also starting to cause problems for the Justice Lords. Batman had run tests; _someone_ had invented a cure-for-the-cure that was, at the present moment, impossible to overcome.

"Three guesses who made it," Hawkgirl had said, "and the last two don't count."

The Lords had _plans_ for the world, and though they'd only just started to implement them, it was clear that with these new measures, this would become a better world. It was even clearer that Gear would not agree, and the Lords simply couldn't take the chance that Static would side with his partner instead of them. If Gear put his brain and all his resources against them, they would be in serious trouble: Gear could very well become another Lex Luthor. But smarter; so much smarter, capable of so much more, and Luthor had never had a bodyguard capable of the things Static was, or one that had the kind of loyalty to him that Static and Gear had to each other.

The most frightening part of it all was that they were still little more than children. If the Lords couldn't afford to let Gear pit himself against them now, how much higher would the price of letting him grow up be?

The answer was simple, terrible, and utterly ruthless. None of them had _liked_ the solution, but they'd all agreed that it was necessary, although Batman and Hawkgirl had taken quite awhile to convince.

Seeing Static just... collapse like that had shaken Lantern; he'd known it would happen, but it really brought home the reality of what they'd done. He couldn't take it back, but it was still painful to see such a spirited kid choking back tears.

The moment Static had accused him of Gear's murder had been a surprisingly frightening moment. One thing the Lords had agreed on immediately was that they wanted Static on their side: he was going to grow up to be a hell of a powerhouse. When Static had snarled out that accusation, Lantern had been certain he'd seen a flicker of that future power in Static's eyes, and it had been... certainly cause for caution.

Thankfully, it had only been caused by deep grief. Lantern had immediately sympathized; he'd felt like he'd never heal, like nothing could ever fill the void after Wally had...

Gear's death had been a necessary evil. The _last_ evil in this world, once the Justice Lords had their way. Static would be the last person to ever have to suffer the agonizing pain of having their best friend brutally ripped away, and that pain would bind him to the Lords' cause.

Green Lantern was certain: it would be a better world.


	3. Chapter 002: The Pain is for Me

Sorry for the wait. I actually had the bulk of this chapter (fifteen pages to be exact) but I became majorly, _majorly _stuck on some "filler" parts and the muse was just not helping at all. But I still managed to force it out. Cheers!

Many, many thanks to **Lynn**, **Nikana**, **NME**, **totallystellar**, **wildred**, **Reluctant Dragon**, and **Iris**. Your reviews all brought a huge grin to my face and actually made me wriggle in my seat a bit. (Clearly, I need to lay off on the sugar).

_Disclaimer:_ Don't own Static Shock, Justice League, or Popsicles. Don't sue plzkthnx.

* * *

**Chapter 002: The Pain is for Me**  
_"The wound is for you, but the pain is for me." – Charles IX_

_

* * *

_

It hurt to be alive.

That was the only thing that was really registering in Virgil's mind lately. It hurt to live. Things just kept barraging through his brain, and he didn't even try to shut them out anymore. All the memories of Richie were so precious despite the pain they caused that he didn't dare push them away; he didn't want to chance losing them, too.

Two days. It was the second night since Richie had died, and at about five this morning Virgil had woken up screaming, his nightmares painting him the picture of raging flames consuming his partner, and no matter how hard Virgil fought to reach him, a green shield barred him from getting there.

Boys weren't supposed to cry. But then, heroes weren't supposed to kill, so what was one more rule broken? Last night, he'd slept in a sweatshirt that Richie had left at his house.

His father had tried to coax him out of his room today, but Virgil had mutely shaken his head, and Robert didn't fight it past that: he was grieving, too. Virgil had heard Sharon crying; sobbing, actually, and he hadn't known she'd cared that much.

Virgil had gotten a phone call from Sean Foley at about midnight last night, full of death threats and incoherent screaming and lots of words that might not have been politically correct even a hundred years ago. Virgil couldn't make himself angry; he couldn't even make himself hang up the phone. He'd let the words wash over him, guilt and agony threatening to drown him until Robert had plucked the receiver from his hand, politely gave his condolences and said a goodbye that he doubted Mr. Foley had heard at all, and hung up.

For the past four hours, he hadn't even moved, sitting on his bed with his back to the wall and his knees bent. His arms hugged himself, because he felt like he'd maybe fall apart if he didn't physically hold himself together.

Every second, he managed to think of something else that he and Richie would never do together again. Never play video games. Never go to the movies, never make stupid jokes during incomprehensible English class, never spend way more time than is strictly healthy discussing the virtues and failings of Plant Man, never pass out together on the couch after watching all three extended-edition Lords of the Rings movies back-to-back, never make fun of Sharon's cooking—

He wanted to scream, but he'd tried that already. Right after Mr. Foley's phone call, he'd flown out to the park in the middle of the night and had screamed and screamed and let loose all the voltage in his body, and to hell with the Lords' temporary curfew for Dakota. He'd blacked out half the city and scorched the park to a charred black field and melted all the swings and slides to lumps of twisted metal, and it hadn't nearly been enough. Nothing had let out all the agony trapped inside. It wasn't sadness, or even sorrow, because those were words you used to describe how you felt when your gerbil died. He was in _agony_, like someone had taken a white-hot fillet knife and was slowly, patiently, sadistically slicing his soul to ribbons.

A familiar stinging began behind his eyes again. Virgil took a deep, shuddering breath to steady himself, trying to hold back tears. He'd cried enough. He'd cried...

Never enough. A tiny whimper escaped his throat; the gaping wound Richie's absence had left was comparable to the loss of his mother. A precious person, lost.

Six years since his mother, and Virgil still hadn't healed. His mind couldn't even begin to grasp this new agony, the widening of the hole that had already been left in his heart. He couldn't even shut down.

———

Two days and two nights. Forty-eight long hours of running, hiding, one short hacking session with discoveries that had left him sickened and disturbed, and catching little spurts of sleep in between. The distance between the warehouse and Virgil's home was rather large, true, but it really shouldn't have taken two days to get there.

Then again, most people wouldn't have had to worry about one of the Justice Lords offing them if they were discovered to be alive. Frankly, Richie was nostalgic for the days when 'big bang' referred to what happened when some idiot screwed up in chemistry class.

At least the summer nights were warm.

Staying hidden during the day was infinitely harder than doing so at night. At night, as strange as it sounded, he was free to move about without much fear of being seen so long as he was quiet and stayed in the darkness. The Lords had placed a curfew on the whole of Dakota two weeks ago, with the notable exceptions to the rule being Static and Gear, and even they had a curfew of 2:00 am. The reason behind it, the Lords claimed, was that it was too dangerous for normal citizens to be out and about, and anyone roaming in the night would most likely be rogue Bang Babies – thus making it easier for the Lords to snatch them up, changing volatile Dakota into a safer place for all to live.

Bullshit. The curfew was all about _control_.

Richie flinched at the sight of Green Lantern in the sky, instinctively crouching down against the side of the house he was sneaking past despite the way that Backpack, attached to his chest to spare his back, dug into him when he bent. Though the Lord was a fair distance from him, it was hard to miss the glowing green that surrounded him.

Reinforcing curfew, Richie acknowledged bitterly, rising from the half-crouch and sprinting as silently as he could across the lawn and into the adjacent driveway.

Creeping along the next lawn, he stopped beneath a second-floor window and glanced around himself, searching for onlookers.

"Backpack," he whispered, regretting the lack of his helmet, which would have allowed communication without speech. "Scan the house. Where are the people?"

Backpack's answer was swift, the little robot flipping open its screen to show the readings: two people downstairs in the living room, one upstairs in Virgil's room. Backpack also noted that Virgil's window was open.

Apparently, even dead men can be lucky.

At Richie's terse instruction, Backpack twisted its top two arms around, stretching them to latch onto the windowsill. The other two gripped Richie's waist firmly, and Backpack began to haul its creator up.

Richie bit his lip against the pain shooting through him, grabbing the ledge with both hands the second it came within range.

———

Having come very close to shutting out the world around him, Virgil almost didn't hear the faint clicking noises. His first thought was that he was going insane. His second thought was that the same being that was stabbing at his heart was now clearly torturing him further with too-familiar clicking noises that he'd only heard Backpack ever make. But Backpack had been lost in the rubble of the old warehouse along with its master.

First one metal claw, then another, stretched up over the windowsill and pulled their burden up high enough for it—him—to grab onto the sill with his hands.

"V," said the soft voice associated with those hands, "promise me you won't scream or freak out or make any noise above a whisper. And that you won't kill me."

Not a problem, considering Virgil couldn't speak.

Rather awkwardly, the teen clambering into Virgil's room via his window pulled up one knee to rest on the sill and allowed himself to rather ungracefully stumble into the room.

"Jeez, bro, I know you're probably in shock, but you could have helped me in at least." Backpack silently lowered itself to the floor and scuttled across the carpeting, into Virgil's closet.

"You're dead."

Richie sighed; he was dressed in black sweatpants and a black t-shirt, and Virgil recognized them as clothing from one of the many caches of cheap, thrift-store clothing and medical supplies they had stashed all over the city.

"You're brilliant and utterly original, V, you know that?" He glanced out the open window, as if looking for something, then stepped out of view of anyone who might be looking in. "Before you bother asking how I survived the whole 'building going boom' thing, let me tell you: long story short, Hotstreak saved my ass by making sure I wasn't turned into instant barbecue. Clearly not as stupid as he seems, considering he managed to put two and two together and figure out that it was me the Lords were after—and apparently decided that hey, if they're trying to take me out, I must be a threat somehow. And he decided he wanted to keep alive someone who can scare the Lords."

Virgil stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending, then said, "I love you." Richie sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I figured that. Took _you_ long enough. Did you hear _anything_ I just said?"

"That's cold, bro," but Virgil stood, took Richie's face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together, closing his eyes and just reveling in the contact. Alive. Unreal. He maybe had thirty seconds, he figured, before his brain caught on and had an aneurysm.

"'Course I love you." Virgil opened his eyes in time to see Richie grin. "Came back from the dead, just for you." At the word 'dead', Virgil shivered lightly, his face going ashen.

"Oh, god." Virgil's hands slipped down to Richie's neck, his thumbs keeping Richie's face tipped toward him, as if looking away would cause him to vanish. "Oh, god."

"Don't force me to make a stupid joke about it being just me, not god." Despite the teasing air, there was worry in Richie's tone. "Don't freak on me, Virg."

Virgil took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady himself. "I just can't... the _building exploded_, Rich, and you were _inside_ it." The pain washed through him again; stupid, but it was like a reflex. "You... I thought I'd lost... I couldn't help you, man; I couldn't get to you, I couldn't save you, I couldn't—"

"Virg..."

"_Hotstreak_ saved you?"

"Yeah. Tackled me, kept the heat at bay, and then promptly informed me that I'd better get the hell away and not tell a soul or he'd toast me himself." For a moment, there was a flash of regret in Richie's expression. "He stayed to fight; I have no freaking clue _why_, because he knew he wouldn't win. He's either a popsicle or road kill now."

"Popsicle," Virgil affirmed quietly, making a mental note to thank Hotstreak, should they ever get him out of the cryogenic chambers. Asshole or not, he'd saved Richie's life for whatever reason. Virgil sighed. "I thought you were dead, man. Why didn't you contact me?"

"Dude, the Shock Vox is toast, and anyway, I was _not_ risking the chance that someone was tapping your phone lines or listening in on our frequency. And do you have any idea how hard it is to keep out of sight of _everyone in the city_ when Lantern's patrolling the streets at night to reinforce the curfew, there're Bang Babies hanging out in all the abandoned buildings, and the Nightbreed are in the sewers? I'm sorry, man, but I couldn't risk anyone finding out that Gear _or _Richie Foley is still alive." Richie frowned lightly, worry and guilt clear in his eyes. "I'm sorry that you thought I was dead, but it was either that or risking _really_ ending up dead, and there was too much chance of that actually happening already. I got here as fast as I could. I'm so sorry, V, I... are you okay?"

Virgil laughed softly, more out of delayed shock than anything else.

"What do you think? I wanted to _die_, bro. I wouldn't have killed myself or something stupid like that, but I just wanted to _die_." Virgil felt the now-familiar prickling behind his eyes, and he blinked rapidly. "But not before I killed them, I swear." The fading pain abruptly gave way to fury, and his voice rose. "They—"

"Shh!" Richie pulled out of Virgil's grip, shaking his head. "I told you: I don't want anyone to know I'm alive. You're the only one who knows. You're the only one who's _going_ to know."

Virgil stared at him. "Richie, are you insane? I mean, I know the Lords can't know, or the general public or anything, but my dad's been almost as messed up over this as me, and even Sharon's been crying! And _your_ parents—!"

"Be quiet!" Richie snapped, keeping his own voice low. "V, you've gotta _trust_ me! I have a—"

There was a soft, tentative knocking on the door. Both Richie and Virgil whirled toward the sound, and panic spread across Richie's face. He grabbed Virgil by the shoulders, startling Virgil into facing him.

"V, they can't know," he whispered frantically, his fingers clenching hard. "Not even your dad, he can't... Virg, _please_."

"Virgil?" Robert's voice was soft. "There's someone here who'd like to talk to you."

"Lantern," Richie hissed, and Virgil recalled the green streak he'd seen patrolling the night sky barely an hour before. Without even thinking about it, he grabbed Richie around the waist, ignoring the soft, pained gasp and all but threw him into the closet, thankful for Richie's near-silent landing due to all the clothing piled on the floor as Virgil shut the door as quietly as possible.

"There are so many jokes I could make right now," Richie murmured through the closet door.

"Shut up," Virgil hissed, and Richie whispered a short warning of "Be nice!" as Virgil moved quickly away from the closet to collapse onto his bed, hunched over with his head in his hands.

His door opened fractionally. "Virgil?" Sure enough, it was John Stewart's deep voice.

"Come in," Virgil said hoarsely, knowing his eyes were still puffy enough, his face in general still enough of a mess to pass as utter anguish: he looked the part. Now all he had to do was act the part.

And Richie's life depended on how well he did it. He'd lost Richie once already; he was not going to lose him again.

Be nice, Richie had said. In essence: act normal, act distraught and in pain and brokenhearted, but _do not point fingers_.

Virgil lifted his head, finding John standing a few feet in front of him with nothing but sympathy on his face. He barely managed to stop his hands from curling into fists around the bedsheets.

"Virgil," John said quietly, folding his hands at his waist, "I would have brought J'onn if I could have, but he's on a mission right now. He'll be back in a few days, if you'd like to speak with him instead of me."

"No," Virgil answered; he pitched his voice soft and a bit trembly. "No, that's... I'd rather just talk to you, if that's okay."

Thank _God_ J'onn was away. Richie would have been dead by now if the Martian had come along.

"Of course it's okay. I came because I know what it's like to lose a best friend, Virgil, and I thought I might be able to help you through this." John sat down beside Virgil on the bed, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Virgil choked down the bile that rose in his throat at the touch, and firmly restrained himself from physically attacking the man who'd trapped Richie inside an exploding building. Trapped him there and left him to die.

_If you know what it's like, how could you do that to us?_

Virgil wasn't really sure how he got through the next half-hour. He purposefully allowed himself to be distant, withdrawn, and he'd even managed to squeeze out a few tears by brutally recalling the moment of Richie's "death" to his mind.

He was vaguely aware of John touching his shoulder again, lightly, then telling him that he could contact the Lords at any time...

And to consider the offer of joining them. To be able to help make certain that no one else would have to suffer Gear's fate; that no more best friends would ever have to suffer the agony of being left helpless and alone to grieve.

Only the knowledge that Richie would be discovered kept Virgil from attempting to outright kill the man. As it was, Virgil watched the Lantern leave in silence, his hands shaking with the effort of keeping his power reigned. Even so, his bedside lamp brightened momentarily.

A minute or so later, Robert entered the room. Virgil's eyes flicked up to his father, hating that he couldn't ease Robert's pain – Richie had been as much of a son as Virgil to him in so many ways. But Richie had said that he couldn't know, and... and that meant Richie had a plan of some kind. He trusted his partner.

"Pops, I just... I want to be alone for a little bit, okay?"

Robert nodded, sorrow and sympathy and pain filling his eyes. "Of course, son. I'll... I'll be downstairs with Sharon, if you need me."

Virgil dropped his head, closing his eyes. Robert left the room, closing the door behind him, the latch clicking softly. After waiting a minute, listening for Robert's footsteps going down the stairs, Virgil got up and pulled open the closet door. Richie was sitting on the floor, his shirt off and bunched behind his back, pressed between Richie and the wall. There were also bandages wrapped around his stomach and halfway up his chest. With a sudden twinge of fear, Virgil recalled the pained gasp when he'd grabbed Richie and shoved him in.

"It's nothing," Richie said immediately, noting the look of worry that crossed Virgil's face, and that denial just proved that it was _something_. Something bad.

"Like hell. What happened?" Virgil offered a hand, and Richie took it, pulling himself up, and Virgil immediately noticed a dried brownish stain on the bandages around the back. Despite his protests, Virgil turned the other around and gently began unwrapping the bandages. As the wound was revealed, Virgil hissed in sympathy at the long gash on Richie's back.

"When Hotstreak tackled me, I landed on some twisted metal—ripped my back up pretty good." He winced as Virgil lightly ran his finger just around the wound; it was barely scabbed over, and even that pitiful defense had been broken in some places, most likely from Virgil manhandling him.

"This needs stitches, Rich."

Richie immediately snorted, turning in Virgil's grip and taking a small step back. "No kidding, but what am I supposed to do? Waltz into a hospital and ask them to treat a dead guy? Who, since he clearly isn't dead, _will_ be the second the Lords find that out? I've got a better chance of surviving if I let it get infected and then refuse to take antibiotics." Richie's face hardened in a way Virgil had never seen before—Richie'd come close to that expression a few times, like when the whole thing with Mr. Foley had gone down, but this was different, somehow. Not teenage anger, but mature anger. Anger with a purpose in mind.

"There was another bomb in that building, V, and there was no way the Lords wouldn't have known it was there." Richie plucked the fresh roll of bandages Virgil had dug out for him from his friend's hands and began redressing the injury. "They meant to kill me and everyone else in that warehouse, and they didn't want you to know they were responsible. It's amazing where a dead man can go, Virg, what he can find out—no one's looking for you, and no one sees you coming. They arranged that machine you were fighting; it would never have killed you. You weren't in any real danger."

"It drained my charge; they _wanted_ me drained," Virgil said in bitter realization. "They wanted to make sure I couldn't help you, even if I did manage to get there before they..." He rubbed at his face, pained by the words. "Before they killed you."

Richie nodded, looking far more calm than he actually was. "In simple terms, they wanted us to be split up. In detailed terms, they wanted me dead, and they want you on their side _because_ of my death so they never have to worry about you trying to screw them over. As far as they're concerned, they're halfway there."

"So what's the brain blast, Neutron?"

Richie shook his head, smirking faintly.

"They were scared, Virg. Not of me, not of you—they were scared of _us_. And we're going to prove that they're right to be."

———

"Green Lantern?"

John touched his earpiece in response to Batman's voice. "Here." Having just left Virgil's house, he was now back to doing his rounds over Dakota, looking for any errant Bang Babies. If they didn't start showing themselves voluntarily, the Lords were going to have to take more direct action. So far, the Lords had only been showing up to snatch the volatile ones, but Bang Babies as a whole were too much of a potential problem to let any of them remain unleashed.

"How is he?" Batman's voice was, as always, calm and aloof. Green Lantern sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I hated doing that," he said quietly. He knew this line was secure; Batman had made sure of it, and no one hacked a line when Batman had secured it. No one _could_... not anymore, anyway. "Just a kid. I keep thinking that maybe with time, we could have convinced him."

"I didn't ask how _you_ are," Batman said pointedly.

"He's completely distraught. I spoke to his father for a bit before going up to his room; according to him, Static slept in one of Gear's sweatshirts last night and woke up screaming for him."

"He also blacked out half the city and turned the biggest park in Dakota into a charred field."

"Hell of a light show," Lantern agreed. "I didn't think... I don't think any of us thought he had that much power. Or ever would."

"That wasn't his full strength. He was still drained from his battle earlier."

Lantern let out a low whistle. "He wasn't half that strong a year ago. Where'd the jump come from? It couldn't all be from emotional trauma, and it would have had to have happened within the last few months. We would have noticed, otherwise."

"He's growing up," was all Batman would say. Knowing that pressing for details would be useless, Lantern frowned.

"Would Gear's power have done the same?"

There was silence on the other end, until Batman said, "It doesn't matter. Did Static seem unstable at all?"

"His best friend just died. He took out a park and half the electricity in the city in one shot. What do you think?"

"I think we'd better make certain he never finds out why Gear died."

Despite himself, Lantern felt chilled.

"Green Lantern out."

———

"By the way, V," Richie began, plopping himself down on the bed beside his partner, "before I get into my plan"—god, that made it sound like he had a clue what he was doing, and he just _didn't_—"what the _hell_ were you doing to cause that blackout? For something that big, you'd've had to be in the middle of all the buildings. I was around that area, and I didn't spot you—although it was hard to miss what you were doing. That must have been a hell of a fight."

The sudden look on Virgil's face worried Richie: stunned and a little frightened. "Why would I have had to be in the middle of the buildings?"

"V..." Richie said slowly, "don't tell me you didn't notice that your power output was at least triple that of your usual nova blast."

Virgil raised an eyebrow. "Well, excuse me for being just a _bit_ too distracted to notice exactly how much power I was using." Richie ignored that, continuing,

"Considering your usual range of power, draining half the city like that should have been nearly impossible, even if you'd been in the centre of all of that."

At this, Virgil hesitated. "I was in the middle of the park. I... it's not really a park anymore. It's all a bit... charred."

There was a long pause.

"I wasn't fighting anyone," Virgil continued, suddenly very interested in the comforter. "I was... I thought you were dead, man. I couldn't keep it in."

"Well, then," Richie said finally, looking to be a weird mix of excited and slightly disturbed. "This definitely offsets my calculations in regard to what extent your power will mature."

"You know, you could at least be flattered."

"I wonder if you'd have a bigger power jump if I died again," Richie mused, the faraway look in his eyes indicating that he was probably seriously considering it.

"No!" The horrified look on Virgil's face softened the expression on Richie's.

"Come on, bro, you know I wouldn't do that to you on purpose." Richie sighed, folding his hands together and pressing them to his forehead as if he were praying. "Which... is actually pretty ironic. V, I'm gonna ask you something that I have no right to ask of you."

"Rich, man." The nervousness in Virgil's voice was plain. "When it comes to us, you've always got the right. You know that."

"No. No." Richie couldn't make himself look Virgil in the eye. He felt utterly sick with guilt and self-revulsion, but somehow his words came out mostly steady and more or less calm. "Virg, I'm going to ask you to give up your _life_. I'm going to ask you to live with and pretend to admire people you probably want to kill. I'm going to ask things of you that I have no right to ask for any reason, and I'm going to ask you to do it all for me." His mouth was dry. "I'm going to ask you to help me... help me take down the Justice Lords."

Though his voice shook, Virgil didn't hesitate. "'Ask, and ye shall receive.'"

Richie explained, then said, "You should hate me."

Virgil managed a very sickly grin that mostly made him look like he wanted to throw up. Which was fine, considering Richie was pretty sure that really was how he actually felt.

"If this means that I've got to miss some issues of Plant Man, I just might."

It was a mark of their friendship that Richie didn't have to say something so trite as 'thank you'. Instead, he leaned against Virgil's chest for support and trembled violently, until he had to stop before he shook himself apart.

———

Although Virgil hadn't relished the idea of _more_ life-threatening sneaking about, Richie stayed in the Gas Station that night, despite the risk of one of the Lords dropping in; there was really nowhere else to go. Virgil didn't bother asking what Richie was doing there, since when Virgil showed up in the late morning, it was obvious that the couch hadn't been slept on. Virgil suspected he really didn't want to _know_ what Richie was doing. He also suspected he was going to find out anyway.

There was no way for him to describe how utterly terrified he was of this entire situation. Trying to kick the crap out of the most powerful beings of the universe was a bit of terrifying task, although he was pretty sure Richie would be able to calculate his exact level of fear right down to the final decimal point, and somehow, that was comforting.

The first thing Richie said to him upon his entry to the Gas Station, however, was not comforting in the least.

"Virg, I'm going to have to do brain surgery on you."

Virgil's first reaction was "Um, no." Then, "Wait, come again?" And finally, "I'm sticking with my first response: no, _definitely_ no, with a side order of 'are you insane?'"

And Richie, sitting so calmly in his computer chair, responded, in order, "Yes; I said 'brain surgery'; and don't make me hit you with a zap trap and then knock you out with a blunt object, because it's going to get done."

"You didn't answer my 'are you insane?' question."

"That's because you wouldn't _like_ the answer." Richie held up a zap trap in one hand and something about the size of a fingernail between his thumb and index finger in the other hand. "Don't make me use this." He brandished the zap trap, despite them both knowing that Virgil could easily deflect it. It wasn't the trap he was worried about.

A chill went through Virgil when he realized that the other thing was a computer chip.

"Oh. Oh, _hell_ no." Richie scowled, though his eyes were sympathetic.

"What'd you think, V, I was going to send you off to the Watchtower with a note pinned to your cape saying 'Dear Justice Lords: please don't read Static's mind, as it makes him a bit jumpy. He's not hiding any big, Earth-shattering secrets, so don't worry! Love, Gear. PS – I'm still dead, seriously, so please don't come and kill me again'."

"Dude, sarcasm is _my_ forte." Virgil frowned. "So this mind-chip thingy is going to keep telepaths out? Hey, _back off_ with that thing!" He held up his hands and backed away as Richie took a step closer.

"V, I've got enough metal on me, not to mention there's _more_ than enough around me, that you could chuck me through a brick wall before I got close enough to so much as _poke_ you with this. There's no need to act like someone with Logizomechanophobia."

"There's no need to make up words, either, but that's not stopping you."

"It _works_, V."

Virgil raised an eyebrow. "Does it?"

"Theoretically, yes."

"You want to put a chip in my brain that only works in _theory_? It might fry my brain the second you activate it!" Virgil paused, then his face lit up. "Hey, _I'll_ probably fry its circuits without it even having a chance to work anyway! So you can't put it in." Firm nod.

"Do you really think I wouldn't have compensated for that?" Richie asked patiently.

Super-genius. Right.

"How did you come up with these things so fast?" Virgil asked suspiciously, anxious for any way to keep the topic away from the whole 'cutting open of the superhero's head' thing.

"I've been working on them for awhile; I actually had the chip itself completed, but making it electricity-proof as well was what gave me a lot of trouble. The way I originally built it, it wouldn't short out if, say, you zapped me, because it would be just a quick shot and I built it to be resistant. Unfortunately, the resistance only goes so far, so I had to find a way to keep it consistently protected against your electrical field's constant buffering."

"Oh." Virgil let the implications of that sink in. "Hang on—did you _know_ they were gonna try and off you?" he demanded furiously, glaring at his best friend.

"Of course not!" Richie snapped. "Don't be an idiot." He set the zap trap and the chip down on his workbench, sighing. "But... I guess I figured that having _some_ kind of defense would be a good idea, if you wanted it. But I never thought..." He trailed off, and Virgil nodded solemnly.

"Yeah, bro. Me neither."

"Even in the off chance that it doesn't work, it being in your brain won't hurt you," Richie said after a moment, trying to keep the conversation on track. "That's not theory; that's fact, so you don't have to worry about that."

Virgil eyed the chip suspiciously. "And how would you know that?"

"Well..." Richie squirmed uncomfortably, his eyes sliding to the floor. "Remember that head wound I got about a month ago? I told you it was from when Talon threw me into the side of the building? It, um. Wasn't."

Virgil gaped at him.

"Come on, V," Richie said soothingly, trying to defuse the situation. "You know I'd never experiment on you. Not when it comes to your brain, anyway."

"You couldn't have bought a _rat_ and tested on it! How the _hell_ did you perform brain surgery on _yourself_!"

"Backpack did it, not me. I programmed in the procedure, though."

"I would have bought the rat _for_ you. I would have zapped the stupid thing into unconsciousness myself and cut it open for you and watched you put the chip in, and I would have nursed it back to health and let you call it Snugglemuffin if you wanted to, and I would even have promised not to make any stupid jokes about Snugglemuffin's name. Not for the first day, at least. Why couldn't you have tested the thing on Snugglemuffin!"

"V, don't freak out."

"I'm not freaking out. There's no need to, because you've managed to avoid certain death _twice_ so far. Clearly you're immortal, and therefore I should be allowed to throw you in front of a moving train to prove that fact, but mostly just so I can make myself feel better." Virgil collapsed on the couch, glaring up at his friend.

"The chances of me dying were only—"

"I don't care," Virgil snapped bitterly. "You _lied_ to me, Richie. You lied to me about putting the chip in. Hell, you didn't even _tell_ me about the chips. You didn't tell me about the fact that you thought the Lords were slimy bastards."

Richie was quiet a moment, then said softly, "I had no proof, only gut feeling. There was no evidence to support my hypothesis. They are—were—your _heroes_. Would you have believed me?"

"Shit, man." Virgil stared up at his friend, bewildered and extremely hurt. "Not all of us think like a genius scientist, you know. Like I care whether or not you can draw me fifty diagrams and write me up a ten-page report on why you think the Lords are megalomaniacs. You're my _best friend_. I _love_ you. Why wouldn't I believe you? Why wouldn't you _trust_ me."

"I did!" Richie protested immediately, carefully sitting down opposite his partner. "I do. Of course I do. But... V, it's hard to believe someone when you think they're crazy, you know?"

"I already _know_ you're crazy." The hurt eased a bit.

"And I didn't want to worry you," Richie finished lamely, removing his glasses and rubbing at his eyes tiredly.

"Okay, you were already dangerously close to it when you said 'I didn't want you to think I'm crazy', but now you're into full-blown Token Retarded Movie Wife mode."

Virgil dived off the couch just in time, although his left ankle was still ensnared in the zap trap.

"Where did you have that thing stashed?" he asked, reaching up to hit the release catch.

"Under the couch cushion, just in case you ever got overly annoying." Although smirking, Richie was tense, ready to vault over the back of the couch in case Virgil decided to throw it back. But Virgil just floated it over to workbench and set it down there, flopping himself back onto the cushions.

Richie relaxed. He really shouldn't have, considering how Virgil knew very well, as much as anyone ever possibly could, how his mind worked, but even super geniuses make mistakes.

A second zap trap caught Richie square in the chest, its 'arms' binding him awkwardly to the couch.

Virgil grinned widely at him. "I knew there'd be another one on this side."

Richie grimaced, holding himself as still as possible. "V. Back. _Ow_."

"What? ...Oh, jeez, Rich!" Virgil immediately leaped forward, hitting the release catch and letting the trap bounce harmlessly to the floor. "I'm sorry!"

"S'okay." Richie sat up, wincing. "It's already healing pretty well." Richie had developed a salve not too long ago that nearly tripled the speed of the body's healing process. Of course, due to the pricey components of it and their serious lack of funding... well, they only used it when they really needed it. Making more than the small batch they already had would put a serious dent in their savings.

"Good to know you're not a zombie," Virgil remarked, and Richie pulled a face at the randomness of the comment.

"I'm dead. Not unde—oh." Richie looked as though he'd just been hit in the back of the head with a baseball bat. "Oh man. I just realized... my funeral. When is it?" A slight hesitation, then softly, "How're my parents? My mom?" It was the first time he'd really acknowledged the fact that he was, as far as the world was concerned, dead.

"Don't know. But your dad... He... gave me a call. Lords told him everything. Wasn't calling me to say thanks for trying to save you, I can tell you that much." Virgil smiled wryly, and Richie looked sick and miserable.

"Don't tell me, man; I don't wanna hear it. God, this is such a huge fucking _mess_." He sighed. "Don't go to my funeral, V."

"I have to!" Virgil protested, shocked. "Do you have any idea how suspicious that would look?"

"Not very, if you explain about my dad. I don't want to end up attending _your_ funeral, V. Bullet through the skull makes for an unattractive open casket, you know?"

"I still have to go," Virgil argued. "He's not gonna shoot me at your _funeral_, Rich."

"My dad may not be the best guy in the world, but he did—does—love me. Even if he _was_ an opinionated, bigoted ass most of the time. As far as he's concerned, you're responsible for my death, right?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"_You _thought I was dead, and you knew the Lords were responsible."

"Yeah..."

"Do I have to spell it out for you, Virg?" Richie said tiredly, waving his hand in the air vaguely. "You wanted to pretty much kill the Lords, right? He's my _father_. What do you think he wants to do to you, first chance he gets? He _does_ own a gun; 'right to bear arms' and all that."

"Well, he knows that I'm Static now, right? The second he shows up, I'll take the gun _away_," Virgil answered, wriggling his sparking fingers. His face didn't betray the nervousness he felt at the idea of someone waving a gun around, but Richie could read him like a book. Unconsciously, Richie rubbed at his leg.

"Virg—"

"He knows who I am!" Virgil interrupted, jerking forward.

"God, you're slow today—yes, did that just dawn on you now? Don't worry about it; the Lords will swear him to secrecy under penalty of death or something."

"Nononononono," Virgil near-wailed, realization hitting him like a ton of bricks. "_They're_ gonna find out who I am! Oh, shit. We're never going to be able to cover this up. Gear dies, and Richie Foley magically disappears and is pronounced dead without even a search party? Virgil Hawkins' grieving looks more like really bad acting, and Static isn't taking out his rage on Bang Babies? Not to mention, how freaking often do a white guy and a black guy team up?"

"Hey, I'm pretty fly for a white guy."

"I _hate_ that song," Virgil moaned, burying his face in his hands. "_Why aren't you panicking?_"

"I'm _dead_," Richie reminded him. "Dead guys don't panic about people finding out their secret identities. What are people going to do, spray paint profanity on my gravestone? Oh no! They might trample my flowers!" Richie snorted. "There isn't even a body for them to defile."

"_I'm_ still alive! They'll harass my family—"

"The Justice Lords won't allow it, once you join them. They've already caught most Bang Babies, and what normal person is going to mess with a guy who can smack them upside the head with lightning?"

"—I'll get crazy stalkers slash murders slash ninja assassins coming after me—"

"You'll be spending a lot of time in the Watchtower; Batman will scare away the nasty ninja assassins."

"—oh god, school is going to be unbearable—"

"Considering playing Evil Overkiddy is a full-time job, I'm sure the Lords will arrange some kind of learning program for you so you don't have to go."

"Stop being rational!" Virgil exploded, and when Richie opened his mouth to say something, Virgil nearly hissed at him. "NO! Stop telling me not to freak out! I **DEMAND** THE RIGHT TO FREAK OUT FOR A MOMENT! First, the Justice Lords kill my best friend. Then my best friend comes back from the dead. Then it hits me, hey, I'm in _love_ with my best friend, but since he's currently a fugitive from the most powerful beings on the planet, if not the _universe_, and _I'm_ currently an accessory for not turning him in, we can't do anything about it." Virgil took a deep breath, glaring at Richie as if to say, _I'm not done yet_, then continued his tirade.

"And then my best friend tells me this absolutely batshit crazy plan that involves me joining forces with the very people who tried to kill him. And _then_ my asshole best friend wants to do brain surgery on me and put a _computer chip_ in my _head_. And _then_ he tells me that it's not that big a deal since he got his freaking ROBOT to do the surgery on _him_ first without even telling me. Then I have to go to his funeral and face his gun-toting homicidal racist father and try not to get killed. Finally, as if all that's not enough, I realize that the whole world is going to figure out my secret identity sometime within the next week or so! Fuck the right to freak out, I demand the right to tranquilizers and a _strait jacket_! And if you tell me to calm down, I am going to zap you into unconsciousness and you are going to _DESERVE_ it!"

Richie stared at him, startled, then said wryly, "Do you hate me yet?"

"Yes. Yes, I do," Virgil snapped, and the fact that they both knew it was a total lie only served to aggravate him further. Richie sighed, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. Silence reigned for a few minutes, until finally Virgil broke it with a plaintive, "I'm a bad actor."

"You fooled Lantern last night," Richie reminded him, not looking away from the ceiling.

"That's because I was in _shock_. I was still waiting for the fact that you're alive to sink in." Virgil sighed, although it came out as more of a faint hiss. "I'm still mad at you."

"Yeah, I know." Finally, Richie lifted his head as a gentle current brought the chip to float in front of his face. He grabbed it out of the air, and let the tiny thing rest in his upturned palm. He held it out to Virgil; an offering.

"They're gonna notice that my head's been cut open, Rich. Even with the salve. And Lantern _knows_ that I didn't get hurt earlier."

Richie gave a faint smile, his hand closing around the chip as he stood. "We can use the fake skin."

"Don't a _team _of doctors in a _sterilized_ room with _proper_ training and _proper_ tools usually perform these operations? And they're not permanently sticking anything inside the brain, either," Virgil said moodily, and Richie couldn't blame him for his tone.

"Hey, I'm not exactly jumping for joy about opening up your head, V. I don't want confirmation that nothing's actually in there." He dodged away as Virgil swatted half-heartedly at him.

"I don't _want_ to do this," Virgil sighed, also standing up. "Let the record show that I am seriously opposed to doing this."

"You're not doing anything," Richie reminded him, clearing away various electronics from the one desktop in the room large enough for Virgil to lay on. "At least if I screw up, you get to be brain-dead. Me, I get to deal with the never-ending guilt of turning my best friend into a vegetable for the rest of my life. Which will probably be about... two days, give or take. Depending on how fast the Lords decide to investigate your disappearance."

"Please don't talk to me about screwing up. The only reason I'm agreeing to this is because I don't actually believe you're going to do it." Virgil yelped, covering his eyes as Richie brandished the chip. "Don't show me that! If you want me to avoid punching you in the face and then running for my life, then don't show me that and let me live in my happy delusion where you're not serious."

"Virg—"

"Lalalalalalalalaaa!" Virgil responded enthusiastically, shoving his fingers in his ears. Richie bit back a slightly hysterical laugh and obediently put the chip in his pocket, out of sight, then pointed at the cleared desk.

"On the table."

"It's a desk. A filthy grimy greasy desk. God, I hate you so much." Virgil climbed on anyway, grimacing as he laid back on the surface.

"It won't take too long," Richie said soothingly, to which Virgil immediately responded, somewhat panicky, "Don't rush!"

Richie crossed the room, digging in a drawer for the oxygen mask and knock-out gas. Really, not the best way to do things, but it would work.

When he turned back around, Virgil had sat up again, and was staring at his feet.

"You okay, V?" Richie asked as he came back over. He laid his hand on Virgil's shoulder and squeezed gently.

"Nope. Not at all." Virgil stared at him, irked. "What the hell kind of question is that?"

"A stupid one," Richie admitted, lightly shoving at the shoulder in his grip. Virgil grudgingly allowed himself to be pushed back down, and pointedly didn't look at the things—mostly _sharp_ things—Richie was setting on the table beside him.

"If I ask you how you're going to get through my skull and hook this thing up, will you tell me the truth?"

Richie considered this for a moment. "Yes."

"Oh, okay," Virgil said calmly. When it looked like Richie was going to tell him, he snapped out, "I didn't ask 'cause I don't want to know."

"Tense, much?"

"Fuck you."

"Later. I have brain surgery to do." The look Virgil gave him was somewhere between surprise, terror, and a healthy dose of anger.

"You comfy, V?"

"_No_."

"Great!" Richie exclaimed, falsely cheerful as his nerves were stretched to nearly the breaking point, and brandished the oxygen mask. "Nap time!"

Virgil hand snapped up, stopping the mask's descent.

"Rich. I'm sorry." Virgil took a deep breath, releasing the mask, then closed his eyes in resignation. "Sorry for snapping at you. This is insane and dangerous and stupid and probably fatal and I have _every_ right to be pissed off, but... If this goes wrong I don't want... the last thing... I don't want to die mad at you."

"Wouldn't matter, V. I'd be following you soon anyway." Richie's expression softened, though. "Don't think like that. You'll be fine."

"Just do it."

Richie gently placed the mask over Virgil's mouth and nose. "Either way, man... See you on the other side." Virgil gave him a thumbs up. Knock-out gas began to flow, and the dosage, Richie knew, would knock Virgil unconscious for more than enough time for the chip insertion.

Virgil's hand fell limp, his body relaxing completely.

Richie ran through the entire procedure mentally, then did it again, and again, until all he was thinking about was the cold, hard medical facts and not the fact that it was his beloved best friend lying unconscious on the desktop.

It was all that kept his hands from shaking as he pulled on rubber gloves and picked up a sterilized knife.

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All right, since a lot of (okay, two) people are asking:

**Q: **_Why didn't Backpack perform the surgery on Virgil, too?_

**A:** Well, Richie knows how, and he has human sentience. If something goes wrong, or something is different, he can react accordingly; something a robot can't do to the same extent. Not to mention I think Virgil would feel better knowing that a human he trusts is doing the operation instead of a robot, even if said robot already got it right once.

Or at least, that's my logic.


End file.
